


to drive away a shadow

by Teddy0414



Category: The Last Hours Series - Cassandra Clare, The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, chain of gold spoilers, chog spoilers, cog2 spoilers, gotsm spoilers, matthew gets the kindness he finally deserves, seriously don't read this if you haven't read those, there's only one otp here: matthew fairchild x healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:40:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23221117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teddy0414/pseuds/Teddy0414
Summary: in which Matthew Fairchild learns that forgiveness has to start with himself
Relationships: Charlotte Branwell/Henry Branwell, Matthew Fairchild & James Herondale
Comments: 22
Kudos: 99





	to drive away a shadow

**Author's Note:**

> so I finished Chain of Gold, and because I couldn't wait a whole year to see Matthew begin to heal, I decided I would just have to write this myself!! I just hope that Chain of Iron leaves him in a better place, because this poor self-destructive child deserves the world and a lot of hugs!! if you want to discuss Chain of Gold, DM me on tumblr at @themillionthdraft, I'm ALWAYS ready to scream about this book because it was adskdlfdk so good!!

**The London Institute**

Matthew had not left the Institute the night of the engagement party, but no one could tell James where he was. He did not need them to. James marched into the games room, and ducked his head under the table. Matthew lay there: half-conscious, muttering under his breath, and looking like he was in no shape to move from his hiding spot. So James did the only sensible thing he could, he slid himself under the table so that he was lying side by side with his parabatai.

“I know for a fact that your bed is more comfortable than this, Math,” he said conversationally, casting a sidelong glance at his friend. 

Matthew turned his head to look at James, and he saw that Matthew’s eyes were glassy and bloodshot. “Want...want it to disappear,” he mumbled, and James didn’t think he was fully aware of what he was saying. 

“Want what to disappear?” he asked, hoping that in his current state, his parabatai might let slip information about the shadow that so clearly haunted him. Matthew could deny it all he liked, but James  _ felt  _ his pain, more on some days than on others. It was impossible to ignore.

“Nothing,” said Matthew, and it seemed as though he was slowly coming back to his senses. “Nothing, it doesn’t matter. Why are we under the table, Jamie?”

“You should know,” said James patiently. “I certainly didn’t pick the spot. Do you want to get out?”

Matthew shook his head. “I did something last night, Jamie, and I think it might have been terrible.” His voice was soft, barely a whisper, and he turned his face away from James when he spoke. But James didn’t need to look at his face or for him to speak louder to hear the pain in his voice.

“What did you do?” he asked. 

“I told Tom about all the horrible things Alastair Carstairs said,” Matthew admitted. “About my parents and his. And I don’t regret the pain it brought Carstairs one bit, he deserves all of it and more, Angel damn him, but I think Tom might be angry with me too.”

James had to admit that he had been far too distracted last night to truly notice if something was wrong with any of his friends, but even he had been able to tell that  _ something  _ was off with Thomas when he had come to bid James goodnight. But Thomas was kind, kinder than any of them, and he didn’t think anything Matthew might have said would leave a lasting grudge. “I think you need to get out from under the table and go talk to Tom, then.” He didn't think Thomas would be angry at Matthew for such a thing, if anything he would be angry at Alastair, but it seemed as though Matthew was determined to think the worst of himself. 

Matthew shook his head. “I  _ can’t, _ ” he said. He sounded utterly helpless, and his voice cracked just a little. It was more of a confession that something was badly wrong than James had ever seen from him before. “I can’t, Jamie. He’ll hate me even more, then. All of you will.”

“I could never hate you, Math,” said James fiercely, and he meant it. “Never. Tell me about the shadow that’s hanging over you, and I’ll make sure to drive it away.” 

Matthew hesitated, and James held his breath, hoping that this would be the time Matthew’s will would finally break just enough for him to say  _ something.  _ He wanted to help his parabatai more than anything, but he needed to know what to help Matthew with. 

“I killed someone,” said Matthew. “I killed another Shadowhunter.”

James was stunned into silence. Of all the confessions he might have thought up, murder had not been one of them. It was a grave sin, to kill another one of their kind, and not one that was easily forgiven. James knew that, but he also knew Matthew, and he didn’t believe it. “Who was it?” he asked.

Matthew didn’t answer. 

He slid out from under the table, almost as if he was about to simply run away. James followed without hesitation, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him down before he could go anywhere. 

“Math, who was it?” James asked.

“My sister,” said Matthew, his voice hollow. “I killed my sister. I poisoned mum. A faerie gave me a potion at the Shadow Market and said it would make her tell the truth and-” Matthew’s voice broke then, and he started to cry, quietly, almost as if he didn’t want anyone to notice and had gotten used to doing so.

James didn’t know what to say.

He felt Matthew’s pain, like something sharp as a knife pressing down on his chest. He wrapped an arm around Matthew and pulled him close. “It’s not your fault,” he said firmly. “You could not possibly have known. You have been keeping this to yourself all this while?”

No wonder Matthew had been so self-destructive. No wonder he reached for his flask more often than not. It was an almost unbearable burden even now that they’d shared it between them, what must it have been like to carry all alone?

“Who would I have told?” asked Matthew. “How can I tell any of them even now? You have to swear to keep it a secret, Jamie. No one can know.”

“No,” said James. They had far too many secrets in their midst already, and one more, especially this one, would only hurt them. “No, you cannot keep this to yourself. I want to help you, Math, more than anything, but you can’t go on this way. Do you trust me?”

It was a question that did not need an answer. 

“Will you come with me?” asked Matthew, but that was not a question that needed an answer either. 

* * *

**Grosvenor Square**

Henry Fairchild was rarely given enough credit about paying attention to his surroundings. He might not  _ say  _ things, but he knew them and saw them, and when his son turned up on their doorstep with James in tow, he looked at Matthew and knew something was wrong. Or rather, that something had been wrong for a long time and it was finally coming to a head. 

He greeted them with his usual cheerful smile, though. “Matthew, I missed you at breakfast,” he said kindly. “Come, I’ll have some tea brought up for us. Charlotte only just got here from Idris this morning now that this whole mess is over, and will be down shortly.”

Matthew stiffened, looking at the floor instead of at him. James tugged on his arm, leading the way into the drawing room. “Matthew has something important to tell you, both of you,” said James, something fierce in his expression that reminded Henry very much of Will. “But you must be kind.”

“When am I not kind?” asked Henry mildly. He planned on being fair, and understanding, as he always was. “Now, Matthew, what is this all about?”

“It’s about Matilda,” said Matthew, his voice hoarse. He still wouldn’t look at Henry, the rug seemed to be the sole focus of his attention, but Henry could see the worry lining James’ expression, and the sadness lining Matthew’s. Henry felt his heart sink. 

“I think,” he said slowly, “that you’d best wait till your mother gets here then.” 

Charlotte arrived almost as if on cue, and Henry wondered if he ought to have asked Matthew to wait. Losing the baby had hurt his wife more than anyone, and whatever this was about would likely hurt her most too. “Matthew, James, how delightful,” she said kindly, “I was just going to come to the Institute to see you both.”

“Matthew has something to tell us, dear,” said Henry gently. “I think you’d best sit down for this one, it’s about the baby.” 

Charlotte’s face did lose some of its colour, but she sat, and to her credit, she did not flinch. “What is it, Matthew?” she asked kindly. Henry knew that he wasn’t the only one who had noticed Matthew being the way he was, and Charlotte’s motherly intuition had not reduced now that she was Consul. 

There was a long moment of drawn out silence. Henry watched James open his mouth and then close it again. Finally, when Henry had almost given up on getting anything out of his son, Matthew said, “I’m...I’m the reason that Matilda’s dead.”

Charlotte did flinch this time, and Henry wheeled himself as close to her as he possibly could, wishing more than ever that he could do more. “What do you mean?” he asked, sounding far more grave than he usually did.

The story came spilling out all at once then - Alastair’s cruel words, going to the Shadow Market, buying the potion - and by the end of it Matthew was crying, and Charlotte was crying, and if Henry wasn’t in absolute shock, he thought he might have cried too. 

“I’m sorry,” gasped Matthew between sobs. “I’m sorry. I’ll go away, somewhere far away, and then you’ll never have to deal with a-”

Charlotte moved to sit beside Matthew instead, gently forcing him from James’ arms into her own. “Shh,” she said gently. “You’re not going anywhere, except perhaps to bed. You were a child then, Matthew, you still are a child, fooled by others’ cruel words and tricks. I will miss the baby girl I could have had every day of my life, and curse the faerie who took her away from us with what she gave you. But I won’t hate you - my  _ living  _ child - for it.”

Henry couldn’t have put it better himself. He felt a deep anger at this accursed faerie, and an even deeper anger that he couldn’t go to the Shadow Market and hunt her down even after all these years, but none of that meant he hated Matthew. How could he? This was the same Matthew who had stuck devotedly by his side all these years, who had defended him fiercely, cared for him selflessly, and done it all with a smile on his face. 

“It was a mistake, Matthew,” he said quietly, and his son withdrew from Charlotte’s embrace to look at him. “It was an irreversible mistake with a terrible price, but it was a mistake. One that we forgive you for, you just have to forgive yourself.”

Matthew didn’t say anything, didn’t look like he had anything left in him to say, but Henry hoped that somewhere, those words would stick. “How about you go up to your room with James?” he prompted. “We’ll have some food sent up to you at dinner time.”

He and Charlotte needed to have a conversation of their own, and although James had been firmly by Matthew’s side so far, he was starting to look like he knew he was interrupting something. He shot Henry a grateful smile, and slipped an arm around Matthew’s shoulders, whispering something in his ear and guiding him towards the door. 

“Oh, Henry,” said Charlotte, sounding absolutely heartbroken as the boys retreated up the stairs. 

“I know, dear,” he said gently. “I know.”

* * *

Matthew didn’t remember falling asleep when they went upstairs. He wasn’t sure what he had said, if anything, just a haze of tears and then nothing at all. When he woke, the sun had set, there were two plates of dinner sitting on the table, and James was fast asleep beside him. Matthew felt empty. How could his parents forgive him so easily? How could they not hate him for everything? How could they still want such a disappointment for a son? 

Almost as if he could sense Matthew’s troubled thoughts, James’ eyes blinked open. “Math, what is it?”

“I don’t know,” said Matthew quietly, leaning back against the headboard. “I told them, but I don’t feel magically better. I don’t feel like everything will be alright again. I don’t know what I feel.”

Something strange passed over James’ face, in that unreadable way that Matthew hated. “I think your dad was right,” he said finally. “You have their forgiveness, you have mine, not that you ever needed it. What you need now is to forgive yourself.”

“I don’t know how to,” said Matthew. James didn’t understand. Of course he needed his parabatai’s forgiveness. James was  _ good,  _ and Matthew, well, no matter how many people forgave him, he would always be a sinner. 

“You’ll find a way,” said James confidently. “You always do. And until then, I’ll be right here, just like everyone else will, whether or not you choose to tell them.”

Matthew  _ still  _ didn’t know what he was supposed to do, but for the first time in years, he started to believe that maybe, just maybe, he could do  _ something.  _

  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
